


Bucky Cooks the Turkey

by FlatlandDan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Food, Implied Relationships, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlatlandDan/pseuds/FlatlandDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last year, when Tony bought Maria Hill Martha Stewart's Complete Christmas Planner, he did not understand what it was he was doing.</p>
<p>A Vinyl Cafe Remix</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky Cooks the Turkey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sidney Sussex (SidneySussex)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidneySussex/gifts).



> I just couldn't resist writing a little Festivus remix of one of my favourite Christmas stories, Dave Cooks the Turkey, originally written by Stuart McLean for the Vinyl Cafe. You can (and should) listen to the original here: https://soundcloud.com/cbc-radio-one/vinyl-cafe-dave-cooks-the
> 
> Merry Festivus, SidneySussex. I hope it's a wonderful one <3

Last year, when Tony bought Maria Hill Martha Stewart's Complete Christmas Planner, he did not understand what it was he was doing. On Christmas Eve, Tony found himself staring at a room full of stuff he couldn’t remember buying. I wondered if maybe it had been delivered by mistake. Then he found a receipt with his signature on it and wondered why he would pay $40 for a piece of metal that you defrosted meat on when they had a perfectly good microwave. He’s pretty sure he could invent something better anyhow. This was just him being lazy. Who could he possibly have been thinking of when he bought the giant parrot? Probably Clint.

But he did remember buying Martha Stewart's Complete Christmas planner, it was the picture on the cover that had drawn him to the book. A picture of Martha Stewart striding across a snowy field holding a chili pepper wreath. Tony had never actually seen or eaten anything by Martha Stewart, but the cover had reminded him of Maria on the war path so he had bought it and it was less than the $20 max for secret santa. He never imagined this was something she had been waiting for his entire life.

Literally everyone in SHIELD was surprised when last May the email went around and Maria started the Christmas Group. Although not as surprised as Bucky was when Steve joined it. 

“It’s not about Christmas, Bucky,” Steve said “It’s about getting together and rebuilding trust in each other.” 

The members of Maria’s group, a diverse range of agents (some of whom had to skype in) got together every second Tuesday at a different house each time. They drank tea or beer and the host baked something special and they worked on stuff, usually till about eleven. 

“The point isn’t getting drunk and making paper chains, Bucky. It’s not about what we’re actually doing. It’s about doing something nice as a community.” 

But there was no denying they were actually doing stuff when they got together. It was May and they were doing Christmas stuff. 

“It’s wrapping paper, “ said Steve. “Handmade wrapping paper.”

“You’re….making paper?” said Bucky

“We’re decorating it, like people used to. Do you know how much this would cost to buy?” That was in July. Bucky was BBQing some steak on the patio of the apartment they shared and trying desperately not to say that they used to make wrapping paper back in the 20’s and that wasn’t something he missed. He refrained because he was pretty sure Steve was a little bit homesick, a little bit nostalgic for a time and not a place. They had done a new Christmas the year before, when Bucky was still overwhelmed with everything, SHIELD was still in tatters and they had barely noticed it was Christmas until it was too late. The decorations had come from a shop, the tree was artificial and Steve had picked three rotisserie chickens on his way home on Christmas Eve. Bucky had enjoyed the two days of peace. But Steve obviously wanted something different this year. Something….traditional.

It August the group dipped oak leaves in gold paint and they hung them to dry in the bathroom. Bucky found out when he came back at midnight, thinking he was safe, and a giant blob of gold paint fell on his metal arm while he was taking a piss.

Then there was the stencilling weekend, the weekend he moved out of the apartment and slept on Clint Barton’s couch. He saw an outline of a gold leaf on Barton’s kitchen counter and backed away from it. Coulson was in town for the weekend, but he doesn’t have a place here any more, Barton had replied using his finger nail to chip a bit more of it off before he sighed and Bucky knew he had found someone to commiserate with.

“Can you do me a favour?” Steve had asked as he tossed some socks into his overnight back. Bucky was leaning against the door frame. “Can you see if you can find some of those thing you put in Christmas crackers that make them go bang?”

“You want me to go out and buy something that will go bang?” Bucky said hopefully. “Like, a grenade or something?” Steve had sighed and given him a look that said You’re my best friend, but you’re also a total moron and Bucky had smirked back.

There were oranges drying on the radiators, blocks of wax for candles in front of the gun cabinet and one day in October, while they were having dinner, Steve said “Do you know there are only 67 shopping days until Christmas?”

Bucky did not know this. In fact, he had not completely unpacked from the last mission he had been on three weeks before. Without thinking, Bucky said “What are you talking about?”

“If we wanted to get all our Christmas shopping done and not have to go out with the crowds, “ Steve paused to think. “We only have 62 more shopping days left.” Bucky and Steve had never done their Christmas shopping until the week before Christmas. Memorably, they had once gone out on Christmas Day. They were staring at each other, bowls of pasta, beers and incomprehension between them. They stayed like that for a good ten seconds and then Bucky said something he had been so careful not to say for weeks.

“I thought this thing wasn’t about Christmas?”

He immediately regretted it. 

Because Steve said “Don’t make fun of me, Buck” and he left the room and went into his own, closing the door and leaving Bucky with two bowls of pasta, the beer and the feeling like he’d kicked a puppy off Niagara Falls. 

Steve didn’t say anything to him the next morning, or in the weekly Avengers meeting, but later that night when Bucky had gotten back from picking up Steve’s favourite pizza and they were watching TV Steve had turned to him and said “Do you know what I wanted for Christmas the most when I was a kid?”

Bucky guessed, correctly, that Steve wasn’t looking for an answer so he just cocked his head.

“I wanted handmade wrapping paper. I wanted Christmas crackers and a perfect table with gold oak leaves. I wanted the Christmas that I was in the pictures and through windows. I wanted two parents, you and a dog. I wanted things to be perfect.” Steve sounded sad, melancholy, and Bucky wanted to reach over and hug him. He wanted to tell Steve that the Christmases they had spent together, both back then and now, were the best he remembered. 

Instead he said “I could dress up like a dog, if you want.”

And Steve had smiled and Bucky had given him the last slice of pizza. Later that night, when Steve went to bed he had squeezed Bucky on the shoulder and said sleep well. But Bucky hadn’t slept well. He kept thinking about Steve and his perfect Christmas. Kept thinking about all the work Steve was doing. Kept thinking that Steve’s perfect Christmas had included him. At 3 am Bucky realised that if Steve wanted a perfect Christmas, he was going to have to get involved in this mission. 

The next Thursday he said “Why don’t you give me half the Christmas list and I’ll pick up the presents you’ve picked out?” Bucky had never gone Christmas shopping in October, but he cajoled Clint into coming to help him find the shops and when he got back to went “That was ok”

Steve smiled at him, helped him unpack the bags and then went “I’m sorry. It’s just that I like Christmas so much. I want to like Christmas so much. And I was thinking that if I got everything done early it might be nice.”

Bucky said “What else can I do?”

Steve leaned over, nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his, and said “On Christmas Day, after we’ve opened the presents, Coulson and I have arranged for the whole team to volunteer at the food bank before we all meet up at the Tower for dinner. But someone is going to have to look after the turkey and I was wondering if you could.”

“I can do that,” said Bucky. 

Now Bucky didn’t understand the full meaning of what he had agreed to do until Christmas Eve. When the presents were finally wrapped and delivered to the Tower, along with piles of other decorations that joined the piles created by Maria and Pepper. Their had only been the briefest of standoffs between the three of them, their nearly identical items vying for a place on the table, but the Tower was a big place so they had decorated three separate living space and agree to eat a meal in each one. He and Steve had ridden their bikes back to the apartment and were lying on the couch watching Miracle on 34th Street. Bucky was warm under a blanket, sprawled out with Steve’s feet near his head. He was half asleep and blissfully happy because together they had managed every single task the Christmas Group had set before them. Everything from the eraser stamps to candles to the homemade cookie cutters. It was the perfect Christmas. 

“Did you bring the turkey over to the Tower?” Steve said. Bucky groaned. 

“No, we were already bringing too much crap for the bikes.” Bucky could feel Steve’s feet start to twitch next to his. “I’ll bring it over tomorrow morning.” The twitching slowed.

“But you did take it out of the freezer?” Steve asked. Bucky pushed himself up and with only the most half hearted of glares headed to the kitchen. He looked in the chest freezer and didn’t see the turkey. He looked in the fridge freezer and didn’t see the turkey. And he was about to ask for help when the truth landed on him like the Hulk. Looking after the turkey, something he had promised to do, meant buying it as well as putting it in the oven. Bucky was tempted to unload both freezers to be sure, but truth be told they didn’t have much in there. He looked at a large whole chicken, briefly, and wondered if that would feed the twelve people people coming to the Tower for dinner. Then he realised he and Steve routinely demolished something a similar size. He walked around the kitchen before caving, taking the chicken out and wrapping towels around it until it looked appropriately huge and then putting it in the sink and putting a towel over the whole thing. At least, when he ran from the Tower in disgrace tomorrow, he would be able to have dinner.

When he finally went back into the living room the film was over and Steve said he was heading to bed. He considered telling him. Instead, he wished him good night and merry Christmas, and went to bed and imagined in painful detail the chronology of the Christmas Day waiting for him. Imagined Christmas morning up until that point when everyone came back from the food bank, happy, but harried and hungry. He imagined that perfect table, with the gilded oak leaves and the crackers. He imagined the look on everyones faces when he brought out a big steaming pot full of hungarian goulash. 

He was still awake at 1 am, but at least he had a plan. He’s wait until Steve left for the food bank and then he would take off for some wasteland, maybe central Canada, and live under an assumed name. At 3 am, after rolling around for two hours, Bucky got out of bed, got dressed and slipped out of the apartment. He was looking for a 24 hour grocery store. It was either that or wait for the food bank to open, and though he couldn’t think of anyone in this city more in need of a turkey then him, the idea that the Avengers might spot him in a line made the food bank unthinkable. At 4 am, with the help of a taxi driver named Moe, Bucky found an open store. He also found Clint Barton, looking at a can of cranberry sauce.

“Do you think,” he asked Bucky, “If I put some raisins in food dye now and then put them into this crap Phil will believe that I made the sauce from scratch?”

“I’ll pray for you,” Bucky said, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder. Clint sighed and picked up the can.

“What are you here for anyhow?” Clint asked. And Bucky was reminded of the enormity of what he was there for. Clint may have been doomed, but he was heading straight to hell.

“Eggnog,” he said weakly. Clint nodded.

“If you want brownie points, head down to the Indian market on the 9000 block of L. They have whole nutmeg. And here,” Clint handed him a brown paper bag with ¾ a bottle of scotch in it. “I think you need this more than I do.”

Bucky bought the last turkey there. 15lbs. Frozen as tight as a cannon ball. Grade B, whatever the hell that meant. He was home by 4:30 and by 6:30 he had the turkey more of less thawed. He used an electric blanket on the turkey and a bottle of scotch on himself. As the turkey defrosted it became clear what Grade B meant. The skin on the right drumstick was ripped. Bucky poured himself another scotch and began to refer to the bird as Igor. He turned Igor over and found another slash in the carcass. Perhaps, he thought, Igor had died in a knife fight. Bucky would have been happy if disfiguration was the worst about his turkey, would have considered himself blessed. Would have been able to look back on this Christmas with equanimity. Might, eventually, been able to share the story and laugh about it. The worst thing came later, after he had put the chicken back in the freezer and put Igor in his backpack, after they had had breakfast in the room pepper had decorated and after everyone had left for the food bank. Before they left, Maria had dripped pine oil on some of the lights in the room Steve had decorated, the one they would be using for the afternoon with the the tree in it. 

“When the bulbs heat up it will smell just like a forest in here,” she said as everyone started putting on jackets.

“I’m trusting you with this, Buck” Steve said, as he wrapped a scarf around his neck. “You have to have the turkey in the oven-”

Bucky interrupted “By 1:30, I know. I have the mission parameters. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

The worst thing began when Steve tried to turn on the oven. Any oven. Bucky had never had any cause to use an oven in the tower, and the oven in their apartment didn’t have an automatic timer. Between Phil, Pepper and Maria doing cooking in the tower all the ovens had been set the day before to go on at various times in the morning for last minute baking. The vegetables had all been done before they left but now, until the oven timer was unset, nothing anyone did was going to turn it on. 

“JARVIS?” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Please unlock the oven door.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mister Barne. Ms. Potts has insisted that I not be allowed to override the oven timers. I believe she was slightly offended when I adjusted the cooking times.”

“Can you talk me through it?”

“Certainly, Sir.” Twenty minutes later, Bucky was no closer to opening any oven door. He briefly considered ripping a door off, but then realised that would accomplish nothing. He retrieved the bottle of scotch he had slipped into the backpack with Igor. At 2 pm he knew he was in trouble. He had to find an oven that could cook this bird quickly, but the oven back at the apartment was no good and by the time he’d gotten the turkey back from there it would be cold. For decades, he had been the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t going to fall to pieces over a raw turkey. 

Bucky is not sure where he got the idea from, maybe he had spent too many years in too many hotel rooms. At 2:30 he topped up his scotch and he phoned up the Plaza Hotel and he was given the front desk.

“Do you cook, um, special menus for people with special dietary needs?” he asked.

“We’re a first class hotel in a world class city, Sir. We can look after any dietary needs”

“If someone brings their own food, because of a special diet, you’d cook it for them right?”

“Of course, Sir.” Bucky hung up and looked at the turkey. It was propped up on a kitchen like a naked baby. “Come on, Igor,” he said, stuffing it into a plastic bag and then into his backpack along with the first aid kit they kept in the kitchen, “We’re going out.”

Bucky hailed a taxi. He shoved the bottle of scotch into the pocket of his parka on his way out the door. “The Plaza,” he said to the taxi driver. “It’s an emergency.” He took a slug from the bottle in the back of the cab and started to stick up Igor using supplies from the kit. He was humming to himself. This was turning into the type of mission he was used too.

The man at the front desk asked Bucky if the needed help with his suitcases. 

“No suitcases,” said Bucky, patting his backpack which was leaking a suspicious looking pink liquid onto the counter. Bucky tried to put on his most disarming smile, and said, only slurring slightly, “I’m just checking in for the afternoon with my chick.”

The clerk winced. Bucky wobbled. Bucky heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned around, looking for support. He found, instead, Phil Coulson. Phil Coulson was standing beside an elderly woman and he remembered that Phil wasn’t sure if he was coming to dinner tonight because his mother was in town. She had a heart condition and he didn’t want to spring everyone on her so he and Clint were going to join them later after she was back at her hotel. This hotel. Phil didn’t say anything, tried in fact to look away but it was too late and their eyes had met. Bucky straightened himself up and blurted “Why aren’t you at the food bank?”

“Picking my mother up from the airport. I thought it might be safer for her to stay here.” Phil replied, keeping his voice neutral. His eyes darted to the bag on the counter and then back to Bucky. Bucky’s voice nearly failed him.

“I haven’t killed anyone.” Bucky told him and Phil’s mother’s eyes got big and she looked at her son and Phil got that look on his face that he did when someone had just fucked up. It kinda looked like he was constipated. Something deep, primal, in Phil’s training took over and he laughed at Bucky, reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. 

“Good one, Bucky. Good one. Mom, this is my co-worker Bucky. He works in...” Phil paused for a moment wondering what Bucky would possibly work it that wouldn’t be upsetting. “Painting and decorating.” Phil’s mother had relaxed and the man on the counter had cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Sir. Your room is ready,” said the man on the counter and handed Bucky a room key. Bucky smiled at the man behind the counter, and smiled at Phil and his mom and he walked towards the elevators one careful foot in front of the other. When he got to the elevator doors he heard Phil calling him.

“You forgot your...chick,” said Phil, pointing to the turkey that Bucky had left on the counter. Phil’s mom was checking in already and so when Bucky walked back to pick Igor up, when he got close Phil leaned in and said “Does Steve know?”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat or two, but he forced his head up and made eye contact. He wasn’t big on eye contact in these sorts of situations. But he was glad he had made the effort because Phil had soft eyes. Concerned eyes, but soft ones that matched the soft smile on his face. Bucky shook his head. 

Phil nodded. “I know a thing or two, “ he said quietly, “about wanting to make Christmas day perfect for someone.” Bucky thought back to the gold paint on Clint’s counter, thought about the raisins sitting in red food dye. Bucky thought about what Christmas would have been like as an orphan in a circus. He knew then that Phil Coulson would keep his secret because what had driven him to make his perfect Christmas room was the same thing that had brought Bucky to this hotel. He grabbed his backpack and made a beeline for the elevator.

The man on the phone from room service said “But we have turkey on the menu, Sir.”

Bucky said “This is a...special turkey. I was hoping you could cook my turkey.” The man from room service told Bucky the manager would call him. Bucky looked at his watch. When the phone rang Bucky knew this was his last chance. His only chance. The manager would either agree to cook the turkey or Bucky had might as well book the ticket to Alberta. 

“Excuse me, Sir,” said the manager. 

“I said I need to eat this particular turkey,” said Bucky. The scotch was all gone, but he had found the mini bar. He was sprawled out on the bed, Igor peering at him from the counter, the rum settling nicely.

“That particular turkey...Sir?” The manager was non-committal.

“Do you know,” said Bucky, “what they feed turkeys these days? They feed them-” Bucky wasn’t at all sure what you fed a turkey. Wasn’t so sure if this wasn’t desperation and most of a bottle of scotch talking right then. He just knew that he had to keep talking. “They feed them chemicals, a red food dye and hormones and antibiotics and steroids and lard laced with crack to make them tasty and juicy. If I eat that stuff I’ll die. In the lobby of your hotel. Do you want that to happen?”

The man on the phone didn’t say anything. So Bucky kept going.

“I have my own turkey here, I raised this turkey myself. I butchered it myself, this morning. The only thing this turkey has eaten-” Bucky looked frantically around his room looking for inspiration, “Kale and tofu!” he finished.

“Tofu, Sir,” said the manager.

“And Starbucks espressos,” said Bucky. It was all or nothing. 

The bellboy took Igor, and a $20 bill Bucky handed him without blinking an eye. Bucky said “You have those big convection ovens down there? I have to have it back by 5:30.”

“You must be very hungry, Sir,” said the bellboy. Bucky collapsed back onto the bed, slept fitfully, and didn’t really wake up until the phone rang a half hour later. It was the hotel manager, saying the turkey was in the oven. 

And then he said “You raised the bird yourself?” It was a question.

Bucky said “Yes.”

And there was a pause.

Bucky said “You ask your chef if he’s ever tried to kill a turkey. Tell him the bird was a fighter.”

The bellboy wheeled the turkey into Bucky’s room at 5:15. They had it on a dolly with a silver dome. Bucky removed it and smiled. It didn’t really look like any sort of bird he could cook. Igor was now wearing frilly little arm bands, there was some sort of glaze on it and there was a small gravy boat with steam wafting out of it. Bucky looked at his watch and ripped the paper armbands off it and realised that the bellboy was still watching him. And then he saw the security guard standing in the corridor. The security guard was carrying the carving knife. They obviously weren’t about to trust Bucky with a weapon.

“Would you like us to carve it for you,” the bellboy asked. Bucky put the dome back over Igor and handed the bellboy $60.

“Just let me borrow the tray.”

“What,” said the guard. 

“I can’t eat this here,” said Bucky. “I have to eat this outside. In nature.” He gave the bellboy another $20 bill. “I’m going downstairs to check out.” The bellboy nodded and back away slowly.

He walked by the security guard without looking at him and said “Careful with that knife. You’re holding it all wrong.”

Bucky got home at 5:30. He took the lid off Igor and tented him with tinfoil. Everyone was due back any second. He poured himself a drink and slumped down on a chair in the kitchen. Through the door he could see the dining room and the living room beyond that. The place looked beautiful, smelled beautiful. Like a pine forest. And Bucky said “Oh oh,”

He got up and he got a ladle of the turkey gravy and he ran around all three rooms smearing gravy on every light bulb. 

“Sir, I’m not entirely sure….” JARVIS began and Bucky just glared at a corned he was sure had a camera in it and JARVIS stopped talking. He was clearly learning how to deal with people at Christmas. Then he went into the bathroom and he counted until 20 and he walked back into the room and he breathed deeply. The rooms smelled just like Christmas dinner. He poured himself another drink and had just settled down on a couch when the door opened and everyone spilled in...everyone including Clint, Phil and Phil’s mother.  
“It just seemed stupid not to have them over!” Tony said, throwing his jacket on the chair specifically put by the door for that reason. “Phil came the food bank to pick up Clint and I convinced Ma Coulson that this would be fun. A really weirdo family Christmas.”

“Hiiii,” said Bucky, and Steve just looked at him. But then he looked past him and saw the tented foil and smiled. Pretty soon casserole dishes were back in the ovens, the traitorous ovens that now opened for anyone, reheating earlier mades dishes. Bucky found himself herded out of the kitchen, into the living room to socialise 

“I’m so happy I didn’t have to do my cranberry sauce” Clint confided in him. 

“That’s nothing,” Bucky replied

Pretty soon it was time for dinner. They all took their seats and yes, everything was perfect. Everyone was smiling, Steve was next to him and Igor...Igor looked the best he ever had. Bucky looked over at Phil, Clint and Phil’s mom and saw a single, glistening drop of gravy sat on Phil’s balding forehead. Bucky watched another drop fall. Then he watched Clint reach over, use his index finger to removed the gravy, smell it, and stick it in his mouth. Phil’s mom blinked. Bucky wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed anything yet, but Bucky saw another drop about to fall, this time onto Maria Hill and so he took a long swing of the champagne and put his glass down.

“Steve, could you come into the kitchen for a minute. There is something I have to tell you.”


End file.
